slip of the wing
by Wind Spark
Summary: Jason celebrates his twenty first birthday by beating the shit out of Timothy Drake.


Jason celebrates his twenty first birthday by beating the shit out of Timothy Drake.

He doesn't do it consciously, exactly. It's not like he _planned_ it or anything. He doesn't wake up and decide to beat up Red Robin just because it's his birthday and he's twenty one and he should be able to do whatever the hell he wants.

A psychologist would probably call it a buildup of negative factors. Like the fact that he woke up at one a-fucking-m in the morning, sweating through his clothes and demented laughter filling his ears. Or the fact that it's the middle of summer and his air conditioning is out, _again_. And the fact that as soon as the sun is up (literally, the sun had just peaked over the edge of the horizon, Jason had been watching the skyline as he waited for his coffee to heat) Dick fucking Greyson had barged into his apartment, all warm smiles and good intentions and hey Jason, happy birthday, let's go out, let's do something, let's celebrate, spend more time with your family, we're all here for you Jay, and suddenly Dick was trying to hug him and _no_. No.

Dick may want him, maybe, (it's probably more misplaced guilt than anything else) but Bruce doesn't, Babs doesn't, and he doesn't honestly care about the rest of them. Not even Alfred wants him around after he trashed the kitchen the last time.

And then he runs into the Batman. Which isn't that bad at first, B wishes him a happy birthday, invites him back to the cave, and Jason asks if he's sure he wants a villain hanging out in his inner sanctum. Bruce says that he had hoped Jason would have changed his mind about that by now. And any semblance of order dissolves from there, with hurled insults and B's ridiculous morals and finally Jason just asks him, _I bet you wish I had just stayed dead, would have made things so much easier, huh?_ and Bruce doesn't say anything, _he doesn't say anything_, and Jason can't look at him anymore, can't be there, because there's a hole in his chest and he can't breath.

And he ends up at Timothy Drake's front door, so drunk that he has no idea how he got there, knocking, the door opening…

"Hey, replacement."

Jason can barely see his own hand (all four of them) in front of his face, but he doesn't really need his sight, or his balance. He barrels into Drake, knocks him against a wall, and hits him, again, again, feels the bones crunch under his fists, feels hot liquid spray against his face as the kid chokes up blood, feels the small, warm body collapse against the wall. Jason is too numb to consider if the younger man even put up a fight. He thinks he remembers talking about Bruce, ("He loves you so much, where is he then? Always says he'll be there and then he never is, never when you need him.") about Dick, ("You wanna blame someone, blame Goldie, he _insisted_ that I spend more quality time with my family.") and then at the end, when the only reason he's sure Drake is alive is because of the wet, choked gasps filling the room, he plants a smacking kiss on the kid's lips and says, "Love you little brother," and then he stumbles out.

He passes out on a street corner and wakes up with the a hangover that would cripple Superman. It is, without a doubt, the worst birthday ever.

…

Nearly half a year later, Jason doesn't make excuses for his actions. He doesn't care how crappy your childhood was, there's no reason to nearly kill an innocent kid. Jason openly acknowledges that he is, generally, a shitty person, and his twenty first birthday was a particularly shitty day, so he reacted in a shitty manner. It's not the first time he's made an ass of himself (actually that's pretty much his constant state of being) and it most definitely won't be the last, but if he's going to make amends with his family and actually work at being _better_, than he needs to apologize to his replacement.

Jason isn't surprised that Tim's reaction upon opening the door is to swiftly slam it shut again. Jason tries to catch the edge and nearly loses a few fingers in the process. And yeah, he expected something like that. So he stands outside the door, listens to the silence which indicates that Tim is still on the other side of the door. So Jason talks.

"Um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm a dick, and not in the annoyingly hyper Goldie way, I'm just a dick and I have a temper and yeah, no excuse for what happened. I can't promise it won't happen again, not with how our lives work, but I will try not to nearly kill you in the future. But I'm going to be around more often and we're probably going to have to work together and I just… I really want this to, to work, and I hope you can deal with me for a little while, and… Yeah, I'm sorry."

And then he turns around and walks down the hall. He makes it all the way to the stairs before he hears the door of Drake's apartment open. When he looks back the kid is standing, hand white knuckled on the door handle. Fear, Jason thinks, but there is no quaver in Red Robin's voice as he addresses his older brother, tone so icey Jason can almost feel frost on the words.

"If you ever, _ever_ touch me again. I'll slit your throat, Batman's moral code or no."

Jason nods. Fair enough.

…

Bruce keeps putting them on assignments together.

"I would prefer if you both had some backup, now that you're going to be working with us," the man tells him, something like guilt in his eyes, and Jason wants to ask him if the guilt is for him or for Drake, wants to ask if he's imagining the blasted remains of a warehouse or the bloody, barely breathing body that Jason left behind on his birthday rampage. Jason wants to ask if he's sorry, if he regrets letting them take up the mantel, if he would do it the same way a second time, but he doesn't. He's done with Bruce, done going around and around in bitter circles.

Tim takes the news of their partnership with a blank face. He then proceeds to ignore Jason completely.

They work together, sure, patrol together, yeah, but it's nothing like when Jason worked with Batman or Nightwing or Batgirl. They don't trust each other. Honestly, Jason doesn't trust the kid to not get himself killed, there's no way in hell he's trusting the kid to watch his back, and there's no way Tim is willing to leave his back to the care of the same man who nearly killed him three times. So it's… awkward, at first. Awkward fighting together, awkward researching together, awkward tracking down leads together, because there's just so much empty air and silence that's filled with bloody gasping and bitter words, and maybe it would help if Jason didn't keep calling him replacement, but at this point it's more habit than actual antagonism.

Bruce refuses to let them work alone, refuses to let them team up with anyone else, and Jason decides, fuck it. He is going to be part of this family again, he is going to work with them, they're going to clean up Gotham together, and he is going to make this _work_.

So the next time they patrol together, Jason let's Tim watch his back. The younger man feels the switch, acknowledges the difference and moves to accommodate it, and then they both feel the change in movement, in body language, no longer fighting side by side or head to head, but back to back, and things suddenly flow, smooth and clean as butter and all Jason can think is wow. Wow. The kid is pretty good. Really good actually.

Jason drags him to get chili dogs after patrol, makes sure Drake's has extra cheese, (at one point during the fight Red Robin had been hurled into his stomach, and the blow had barely winded him, which just is not ok, Jesus kid, do you even eat actual food?) and they camp out on the roof of Wayne Tower and watch the cars pass hundreds of stories below them, Jason chatting happily.

"Ya know, for an itty bitty baby bird you're not bad in a fight. This might actually work."

And Drake's (Tim's) lips twitch up into an almost smile.

…

The night is dark, deep, endlessly black. The man running through the alleys below is down to his last reserves of adrenaline, and Jason knows what he's feeling right now. Fear. Exhaustion. His legs will be weak, shaking, about to give out, his knees knocking together as he runs, his feet beginning to stumble over each other. His breath coming in sharp gasps, burning in his lungs, weight on his chest. Hands trembling, gun slick with sweat. Eyes so wide they feel like they're going to pop out of his skull, trying to see into every shadowy corner at the same time.

Sweat cold down his back. His stomach churning. His heart jumping in his throat.

Terror.

And that's when the Red Hood swoops down out of the sky like a… Jason would say a bat out of hell, if he was in the mood to make jokes, which he is _not_.

Because Tim is lying in a hospital bed, tubes shoved down his throat, machines forcing his body to keep breathing, skin riddled with so many bullet holes it's a miracle he didn't bleed out on the sidewalk.

Leave it to the kid to get caught in a bank robbery when he's in his civvies, without his costume, his kevlar, his protection. Leave it to him to be the one the robbers picked out as a hostage. Leave it to Tim to mouth off to the obviously juiced up leader of the gang, to end up bleeding, dying in the gutter.

The Red Hood wonders if the man he has pinned by the throat knows that he's dead. He shot Red Robin. He shot _Tim_.

"Jesus," the man chokes. "Jesus Christ."

"He's not going to be very helpful right now," Jason snarls.

Nothing on heaven or hell could stop what's about to happen, not even Batman, and he's not going to be getting in the way when his third son is barely clinging to life.

The sniveling, sobbing thing on the ground is barely human to Jason, and when he pulls the trigger he feels nothing but satisfaction.

The _thing_ that hurt Tim isn't going to hurt anyone ever again.

The thing that hurt Jason's partner is gone.

…

It's been a year. A year of leaping across Gotham's skies with the rest of the bats, of helping Alfred in the kitchen, of fixing tech and having movie nights with Dick, Tim, Damian, and whoever else can be dragged to the manor, of tracking down criminals with Bruce (_dad_) and of finally, _finally_ feeling like he belongs to something. It's been a year of Red Hood and Red Robin and Jason and Tim and partnership and _trust_. It's been a good year.

It's a warm Saturday afternoon, and they're relaxing on the couch, Jason half asleep, head in Tim's lap, Tim with the newest book in the Song of Ice and Fire series. Jason will forever be grateful for those books; Tim reads at a speed that approaches superhuman levels, so eight hundred page tomes that weigh more than encyclopedias are the only thing that can capture his interest for more than a few hours and force him to relax with his family. Even with a year of Jason's decidedly irresponsible influence, his baby bird is still a filthy, disgusting workaholic.

Tim has concluded that Tyrion is the only character with the intelligence and adaptability required to lead Westeros into a new era. Jason maintains that there is no way in hell the midget is going to be able to beat his dragon lady. One whispered "Dracays" and he'll be a nice little bite sized dragon snack.

Tim's hand strays absently through Jason's hair, and the older man sighs. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Jason feels like he's floating on a cloud, a soft, yellow, butter flavored cloud. He wants to stay here forever, he loves it here, he loves the warmth and the contentment and the feeling that he is _safe_, because Tim is there and Jason loves Tim, he loves…

Jason opens his eyes.

"Tim."

The younger man hums distractedly, lifting his hand from Jason's hair to flip the page.

"_Tim_," Jason almost snaps, because this is more important than Jon Snow and his perpetual man pain.

Tim's eyes, blue grey and gorgeous, freaking gorgeous, (how did he never realize just how gorgeous baby bird was before?) lock with Jason's gaze, confused and curious.

"I love you," Jason says, because it's the truth, and because he wants Tim to know (the kid is still the most emotionally insecure idiot Jason has ever met, you need to tell him these things or he'll just keep walking around with his head up his ass) and he wants Tim to respond, wants him to smile and _understand_, wants him to…

Tim's face goes blank. Blank and white and unreadable as a wall, his mask in place even more quickly than when Alfred asks who's been in the stash of special occasion sugar cookies which Jason is sure are made of some combination of heaven, rainbows, and love. Except this isn't Tim trying to get away with snagging a cookie, this is Tim responding to "I love you," and it's not like Jason's said that to a lot of people, but he knows that those words and Tim's face are not matching up in an acceptable manner.

"Tim?" Jason asks, reaching up to run a thumb across his partner's chin, and Tim jerks, stands up so quickly that Jason nearly falls off the couch, and as Jason curses and fights to right himself Tim all but sprints out of the room.

Huh. Jason can honestly say that he was not expecting that.

…

"I just wanted to tell him I loved him, I mean I just realized it and I wanted to tell him, I didn't think he was going to run away and move to _Tokyo_, for fuck's sake, I don't know what I did!"

"Todd, I have an idea."

"Huh?"

"Take your irritating and irrational self to Tokyo, find your boyfriend and _talk_ to him."

"Jesus _fuck_, he's not my boyfriend, I mean we could be, I wouldn't mind it, I mean he's adorable as fuck and I love him. But he ran _away_, did I scare him, what did I do, I can't just track him down and confront him, what if he has a heart attack or something, what did I _do_?"

"Perhaps it was simply the shock of your choice of words. It is not as if you've said such a thing to him before."

"…"

"Todd?"

"_Fuck_."

…

This is the third time that Jason has shown up at Tim's doorstep, and this time he's going to get it right.

Step one. Barge in as soon as the door begins to open so he can't slam the door in Jason's face again.

Step one is successful. Jason bursts in so quickly that the door hits the wall and he nearly knocks Tim over, and let it not be said that Jason Todd doesn't know how to make an entrance.

Step two. Explain to his idiot partner, simply and logically, that he wasn't being an ass, wasn't mocking Tim, that he actually _loves_ him, and it really shouldn't be that hard to convince the kid, but Tim's an emotionally stunted idiot like that.

"I love you. And I want to date you."

Ok, or just skip to step three. Declarations of adoration and intentions to claim Tim as his own personal boyfriend. Tim, who is looking at him like he's got three extra heads and is speaking some strange alien dialect. Back to step two, then.

"I kind of just realized it though I've actually liked you and stuff for awhile now and I guess I didn't express that very well, because you got up and left and…" Jason sighs, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "And I guess you thought it was like before? That one time, on my birthday when I almost killed you, and I'm sorry about that, I've apologized before and I'm probably going to be apologizing for that one for the rest of my life, but the thing is, Tim, I was an ass then and I'm an ass now, but this time I love you, because you make me better and you keep me sane, and I'm not going to hurt you and I'd kinda like to kiss you, and yeah. Say something? Breath?"

Tim inhales, blinking up at him, and Jason is beginning to wonder if the younger man is simply in shock. His face is doing this strange thing that Jason doesn't really understand. Usually he's pretty good at reading Tim's mood, better at it than Bruce or Dick even, but right now he doesn't know how to respond to the odd flickering, spasming of emotions across the face that Tim is resolutely trying to keep expressionless. Jason decides that within the next few minutes Tim is either going to laugh or cry, 50/50 either way.

"You… You followed me," Tim finally stutters.

"Yeah."

"To _Tokyo_."

"Yeah."

"You followed me to Tokyo."

"Well if you hadn't decided to run halfway across the world than I wouldn't have had to!"

"People don't… People don't do that," Tim says. "They don't follow me, they don't, they leave me alone and let me work on my own and they don't… They don't act like they_care_."

Jason swallows the lump in his throat. "Excuse me," he says, and it comes out so gently he almost wonders who stole his voice. "Have you not spent the past _year_ as my partner? Baby bird, I have been accused of many things, but I always care, especially about the people who are important to me."

Time gulps, blinking rapidly, and Jason mentally prepares himself for tears. Tim, of course, surprises him with a laugh.

"I just. I never thought you would. I never thought you would even _like_ me, let alone…" Tim struggles, can't seem to get the words out.

"I love you," Jason repeats. "And I would really like to kiss you now. Is that ok with you?"

Tim nods.

Step four. Kiss the fuck out of Tim.

It's so much different than their first kiss. That kiss had been harsh and violent, blood and alcohol and darkness between them. This kiss is soft. Almost sweet. And when he steps back, there are tears in Tim's eyes, and the kid is grinning dazedly up at him.

"Ok?" Jason asks, and maybe he's just a little breathless, a little nervous, a little terrified by how Tim is going to respond.

"Yeah. Ok." And then he tackles Jason to the ground, grinning and laughing and he_giggles_ as Jason rubs his stubble against Tim's face and absolutely covers him with kisses, and did Jason mention that he fucking loves his boyfriend?

He loves him. He really fucking loves him.

* * *

Umm. I have given up on the brother thing and have pretty much just started shipping the hell out of them. Whoops. But yeah, this turned out better than I thought it would.


End file.
